


Opia

by Macremae



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: F/F, High School AU, M/M, Seven Minutes In Heaven, the girls know pretty much everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7508038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>opia<br/>n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.</p><p>(It's a high school au what did you expect)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opia

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing just take it

“Nevermind,” Rudyard said three feet from the front door, “I’m going home.”

Antigone, sharing a look with Georgie that managed to be both disinterested and exasperated, shoved him up the steps. 

“Too bad,” she told him, holding the collar of his sweater to prevent escape. “Georgie, dear, could you get the door please?”

Georgie flashed her girlfriend a wicked grin and pushed it open, helping Antigone shove her protesting brother through.

Rudyard stumbled through with an odd sort of squawk, glaring at the girls as he regained his balance. “I hope you realise that I despise both of you, and would sell you to Satan for a single corn chip.”

“You only know that line because I showed you the meme; nice try,” Georgie replied flatly. “It’s the last party of the school year, what kind of friend would I be if I let you miss it?”

“A good one.”

She shrugged and slipped around the corner, holding the basement door open for Antigone. The sounds of blaring music, mindless chatter, and badly-concealed snogging could be heard. Rudyard made a face.

“Antigone, will you please make her see reason? This doesn’t seem like your idea of fun either.”

His traitorous sister took a deep breath and grasped Georgie’s hand. “I’ll be fine, and so will you. Probably.”

“Yeah,” Georgie added, smiling smugly at him, “you’re of age too y’know. Go do something about it.”

Rudyard spent a good ten seconds sputtering before storming downstairs after the girls. “What do you mean, ‘go do something about it’? Have you two been? Is that what I’ve been hearing?!”

He paused and looked out over the sea of teenagers milling around, about half of them doing something semi-legal, and recognized none of them. Bollocks.

With a sigh, Rudyard resigned himself to an incessantly loud, mind-numbingly boring night, and joined a cluster of sophomores on the couch, who were yelling at some cooking show he could care less about. He shoved his headphones in and turned the volume up as loud as it could go.

After a few minutes he felt a tap on his shoulder. He paused the music and pulled one earbud out, turning to face the person next to him.

The snarky comment died on his tongue the moment he saw who it was.

“Y’know,” Chapman teased good-naturedly, “I could make a comment about that being a sure fire way to damage your hearing, but my biggest concern is, The Decemberists? Really?”

Internally, Rudyard sighed with relief. Arguing, thank God. The one form of conversation that was hardest for him to screw up.

He snorted. “They’re better than Tegan and Sara. Aren’t they mainly for lesbians?”

Chapman shrugged and grinned at him, inciting a very annoying fluttery feeling in his chest. “Aren’t The Decemberists mainly for hipsters?”

Despite himself, Rudyard couldn’t help but smile a little. “Touché.” He then realized he was smiling, and quickly stopped. Noticing Chapman’s curious expression, he quickly asked, “So, er, what are you doing here?”

Chapman raised his eyebrows a little, but let it slide. “Well, it is the last party of the school year.” He paused, looking Rudyard up and down in a way that made him go a little pink. “Speaking of the time of year, it’s almost summer. How are you wearing a sweater?”

“You do know where we live, right?” Rudyard replied, trying desperately to will his blush away.

“It still must be a little hot. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a t-shirt, much less shorts. How come?”

It was an innocent question, but Rudyard still prickled in response. “I just don’t like them; that’s all there is to it.”

It seemed that this time, Chapman wasn’t going to let him weasel out of another question, but before that train wreck could occur, Georgie appeared in front of him.

“You,” she said, pointing at Rudyard, “come with me. You,” she continued, pointing now at Chapman, “as well. Or not. I don’t really care. Rudyard has to come with me though.”

“Why,” he asked, slightly nervous, “what are you planning?”

Georgie kept her poker face like a pro. “You’ll see. C’mon.”

Knowing that escape was impossible, Rudyard warily followed her to an area of the basement where a mixed group of grades were gathered in a circle, Chapman following close behind. Georgie pointed for him to sit with everyone else, and both boys complied. 

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands together, “here’s what’s gonna happen. Clairissa got her hands on some cheap wine, but it’s shit, so we’re gonna use it for something much more palatable. In the middle of the circle, you will see said wine bottle. We’re gonna use it to play Seven Minutes in Heaven. The closet is over there. You’re all teenagers, so I’m assuming you know the rules. Pansy is going first.”

A short, bespectacled girl in a neon orange hijab gave a small wave, and pushed the bottle to spin it. It landed on a boy across from her with two different colored eyes, and a shock of green hair. 

“Hey,” he said to her nervously, and lead the way to the closet several feet away. They both entered with matching red faces, and giggling could be heard from inside.

Rudyard saw none of this, as his mind was too busy going into panic mode. What in the name of God’s green Earth was he doing? Had Georgie planned this? She had totally planned this. That bitch. Oh God, what if his spin landed on Chapman. Would they have to kiss? The rules didn’t explicitly say they had to, just stay in the closet for seven minutes, but it was heavily implied. 

Caught up in a proverbial world of worse-case scenarios, Rudyard didn’t notice that he had been sitting next to Pansy until she returned, a smudge of lipstick on her cheek.

“Oi, Rudyard, it’s your turn,” she told him.

Hands shaking, he flicked the bottle. It spun for what seemed like ages, until finally landing on the other person sitting next to him.

Double bollocks.

“Well,” Chapman said pleasantly, getting up and offering his hand to Rudyard, “shall we?”

“Uh….” was Rudyard’s Pulitzer-winning response. He tentatively took Chapman’s hand, feeling a tingling feeling run up his arm as contact was made. 

Oh God, they were holding hands. It was a troubling combination of his worst nightmare, and dream come true. 

The closet was almost pitch-black, only lit by the light coming from under the door, and a flashlight propped up on one of the shelves.

“So…” Chapman began, as if this were a simple, everyday occurrence, “what should we do while we wait?”

“Huh?” Rudyard managed.

“Well, I’m pretty sure kissing is out of the question, and we’ve got seven minutes to kill. Any suggestions?”

“Wait, hold on, you don’t- why did you say kissing is out of the question?” Rudyard regretted asking the moment he did, but the repulsive jolt of disappointment he felt was impossible to ignore.

“I- I thought you wouldn’t want to? What with you hating me and all that.”

“We- er, I. I mean, I’m- I’m not saying I- don’t think I- I don’t actually hate you. That much.”

Even in the dark, Rudyard could see Chapman’s face light up. “You don’t?” he asked with poorly disguised hope.

“N-no. I suppose.” Rudyard quickly stared down at his shoes, his face burning.

“Oh. Well. Oh. Is that a yes on the kissing, then?”

His head shot up, limbs stiffening. “What?! I didn’t mean- I’m not- I don’t like you!”

Chapman shot him a knowing grin. “But you don’t hate me?”

“Well I- stop twisting my words!” Rudyard hissed, now fully convinced that you could actually die from blushing too hard.

Chapman took one look at his face and burst out laughing. Rudyard bit his lip and tried to glare at him, but was unable to repress the same small smile from earlier. Again, he realized what he was doing and stopped.

“Why did you do that?” Chapman asked suddenly, the curious look making a return.

“Do what?” Rudyard replied nervously.

“Stop smiling. You figured out that you were, and stopped just like that. Why?”

“Ah. Well, I mean, it’s creepy enough in here in the dark. I wouldn’t want to make it even more so.”

Chapman cocked his head in an adorable way and looked concerned. “Your smile isn’t creepy, Rudyard. At least, not the genuine ones. They’re… nice. Cute.”

Rudyard blinked, taken aback by the compliment. “I- cute? Really?”

Chapman gave him an odd look. “Of course. Anyone who says otherwise should really get their eyes checked. Perhaps you could recommend an optometrist?” he teased, poking the bridge of Rudyard’s glasses.

Rudyard gave a little laugh, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“See, there it is! Stunning.”

He bit his lip again, out of habit more than anything, before suddenly realizing how close they were. The tip of Chapman’s nose could almost brush the bottom of his, and his eyes looked somehow even bluer this close. There was an odd look in them, almost as if they were asking a very important question.

“Er, Rudyard,” he said quietly, “you never answered my question.”

“What?” Rudyard asked breathlessly.

“Is it a yes on the kissing?”

Rudyard blinked again and grew even redder, which was a good enough answer for Chapman. He rose up on his tiptoes and captured Rudyard’s mouth in a mind-shattering, goosebump-inducing, annoyingly amazing kiss. Rudyard was frozen in surprise for about five seconds, before realizing exactly what was happening, and eagerly kissing back. He backed Chapman up against the closet wall and slid his arms around his waist. Chapman responded by sliding his tongue along Rudyard’s bottom lip, before gently biting it, which caused the receiving party to emit an embarrassingly loud moan.

Without warning, the closet door flew open, the light from behind illuminating Antigone like a terrifyingly smug Angel of Successful Matchmaking . With a squeak, both boys flew apart, stared at her, then back at each other.

“Uh…” said Chapman, at once at a loss for words.

“You’re welcome,” were her only words, before she slammed the door shut again.

They were both frozen for a good twenty seconds, processing what had just happened. 

“Did you sister plan all this?” Chapman asked slowly.

“Probably,” Rudyard managed to reply, still mortified at the noise he had made, “I honestly don’t know whether to kill her or thank her.”

Suddenly, it was Chapman pinning him against the wall, and answering in a heart-skippingly low voice, “Well, be sure to give her my deepest thanks.”

Rudyard was about to reply, but Chapman began roughly kissing the spot where his jaw met his neck, and really, it was all a blur from that point on.

About twenty minutes later they stumbled out of the closet, cheeks flushed and eyes bright and knowing. Georgie looked over from where she was sitting on her girlfriend’s lap and high fived her.

“About goddamn time.”


End file.
